Bethany Campbell - Wild Horses

Adam stared at the closed door. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage.

He’d known this trip was going to be hard. And he refused to lie to himself—he’d felt edgy about meeting Carolyn Trent from the start. What sane man in his position wouldn’t?

During the whole trip he’d hardened himself to face her. When he’d climbed the stairs to her home, his heart had pounded like a sledgehammer. He’d supposed she’d be polite—initially. After that, he’d been prepared for anything.

Except this. The woman he’d come to meet wasn’t here. Instead, he’d been thrown off from the first moment by the strange, starchy Michele Nightingale. As haunting as he found her looks, her manner set his teeth on edge. She’d seemed snippy and stuck-up.

Or so he’d thought until the moment she’d burst into tears.

He swore aloud. What to do now? Everything had to be rethought. Everything.

Dear Reader,

This book exists because of four extraordinary people.

One is my husband, Dan, who learned that there were endangered wild horses in the Bahamas—and knew I’d love to find out more. He tracked them down and took me to see them. I was hooked by their story, and I hope you will be, too.

The second person is the all-too-modest Milanne Roher. Milanne has selflessly dedicated herself to these beautiful, mysterious and threatened creatures, the wild horses of Abaco.

I wanted a character who, like Milanne, could bring great passion to a cause, and that character turned out to be Adam Duran. Though he and the heroine, Mickey, have a volatile clash of loyalties, they find they also have deep and abiding similarities.

The two other people who influenced this story are my mother, Beatrice, who was orphaned at fourteen, and an older woman—a stranger, Frances—who took her in. What began as an act of charity turned into a lifelong friendship. Frances’s kindness, warmth and generosity continue to echo through the generations of our family.

These women are the basis of the relationship between the characters of Mickey, the protagonist, and Carolyn Trent, who proves so important to both Mickey and Adam.

Please drop in and visit me at my Web site, www.bethanycampbell.com. You’ll find more information about the horses there, a contest for you to enter, other goodies and a chance to get in touch. I’d love to hear from you!

Sincerely,

Bethany Campbell

P.S. To see the real horses that got this story off to its start, just check out the Web site for the Abaco Wild Horse Fund, Inc. There are photos, videos, a history and frequent updates. You’ll find it at www.arkwild.org or you can simply type the words “Abaco Wild Horses” into your search engine.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Bea and Aunt Frances, with love

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IN THEIR DAY, the Randolph brothers of Crystal Creek, Texas, had been famed for three things.

They were handsome as sin. They were rebellious to the point of recklessness. And they tended to drift off to faraway places and never return.

Enoch Randolph was no exception. He’d left Texas over thirty years ago for a life of ease in the Bahamas and never looked back. As time passed, the crankier he grew. He cut off his ties with all the people of Crystal Creek—except one.

That person was his niece, Carolyn. He stayed in touch, not out of love, but for money. Each spring Enoch mailed her a handwritten receipt. This receipt acknowledged that she’d sent him the yearly check for the range land that she leased from him.

Although Carolyn was Enoch’s closest living relative, he never added any greeting or message, except this: “Mrs. Carolyn Randolph Trent: My will stands as per the agreement I made with your mother in 1968. Enoch Randolph.”

So, in May when an envelope arrived with the Bahamian stamp, Carolyn’s secretary, twenty-six-year-old Mickey Nightingale, opened it as a matter of course. She expected Enoch’s usual statement in his usual, crabbed handwriting.

But instead of the receipt, Mickey found an entire letter. Unfolding it, she saw that it had been typed with an old-fashioned typewriter on a sheet of yellowing paper. As she read, anxiety tightened her chest and her heart raced ominously.

May 7

Box N-204 West Bay Street

Nassau, Bahamas

Mrs. Carolyn Trent

Circle T Ranch RR 1

Claro County, Texas 78624, USA

Dear Mrs. Trent:

I regret to inform you that your uncle, Enoch K. Randolph, died in his sleep one week ago on the night of April 30. It was peaceful.

As executor of his will, I am charged with settling the part of his estate involving his lands. Mr. Randolph left specific instructions that I am to do this in person.

I will arrive in Claro County on May 19, the Wednesday afternoon after next. Time is of the essence, and your full cooperation is necessary so matters can be settled by Friday. I can stay no longer.

Please reply immediately. You may leave a message at 424-555-1411.

Sincerely,

Adam Duran

P.S. Your uncle was cremated and his ashes scattered in the Caribbean without ceremony, as per his request.

“Uh-oh,” Mickey murmured. Whoever Adam Duran was, he seemed to have the tact and sympathy of a constipated rhinoceros.

Not only that, his letter must have been delayed. Good grief, May 19th was the day after tomorrow. The rhinoceros was practically on their doorstep.

Mickey hoped that news of Enoch’s death and the brusqueness of the message wouldn’t upset Carolyn. Concerned, she rose from her desk and hurried to find her.

Mickey was brisk, efficient and fiercely loyal to her employers, Vern and Carolyn Trent. She kept their lives organized and running smoothly; she liked this job and excelled at it. Officially she was Carolyn’s secretary; unofficially she was family, almost like a second daughter.

The Circle T was not only Mickey’s workplace, but her home and sanctuary. To her, it was like dwelling in a castle at the heart of a benevolent kingdom. Her growing-up had been harsh, but here she felt privileged, fulfilled—and grateful.

So it pained her to bring bad news to Carolyn, especially since Carolyn was so happy of late. And she was due. Caro had traveled a long stretch of hard times. But now she was giddy, almost girlish, and blooming like a Texas rose.

Carolyn’s only child, Beverly, who lived in Denver, was about to make her a grandmother. It was a miracle, pure and simple. Beverly and her husband, Sonny, had tried nine years for this baby. The baby was a girl and she would arrive in three weeks by C-section. She would be named for Carolyn and called Carrie.

As the due date neared, Carolyn’s excitement had quickened into intoxication. She and Vern were to fly to Denver to welcome the baby like the little princess she was. The trip was eclipsing almost everything else at the ranch.

Mickey was certain where Carolyn would be—in the spare bedroom she was transforming into a nursery for the baby’s visits. Mickey followed the scent of fresh paint down the hall.

She found Carolyn humming as she coated a window frame a rosier shade of pink. She was so intent on her work that she barely glanced up. “What do you think, Mick? Looks better than that pale pastel, doesn’t it? Cheerier?”